


Butterfly Woman

by Kissy



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, mood piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-11-02 13:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: What is the true definition of beauty? When does anger and grief give way to forgiveness?





	Butterfly Woman

Jahara was as unchanging as the wind. It lay on the outskirts of the Osmone Plains, a jewel set in a dusty, arid crown. The Plains held many wonders, and many dangers.

A tall youth, full of dreams and armed with his father's old spear, roamed the plains in search of prey worthy of his mate-to-be. He would meet his mate tonight, at the Story Circle. His father told him that Butterfly Woman would be there with a double-handful of maidens, one being his very own intended. If he were to prove to her that he was a competent provider, he must come back to the village before sundown with something ample.

Wu feathers...those would be received with great delight, for it was the Wu's plumage that decorated many of his people's masks and jerkins. He decided to hunt Wu. It would be difficult, perilous even, but worth it in the end.

Without taking his eyes off the plains, the young Garif reached into his leathern jacket. He drew out a small chunk of Nanna fat, wrapped in muslin. He propped his spear against his chest, and unwrapped the morsel. He bit off a corner of his treat, and relished the salty, sweet flavor of his breakfast.

He tested the air, tasted the nuances on the wind, and found that his intended hunt was near. He crouched down low, and studied the earth between his feet. He blinked once, startled. There were footprints in the dust that did not – _could_ not – belong to any Garif. He could make out five or six different sets of footprints, all Hume...save one. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a group hunting in these parts with a Viera in their midst.

He stood, and spat the spent wad of Nanna fat in the dirt between his boots. He couldn't remember the last time he saw a Viera travel these parts. The long-eared women were frailer than most Garif, and did not stand a chance against most of the fiends that prowled the knolls of the youth's homeland.

There was a small, narrow valley that ran between two shallow cliffs. It was through this chasm that, if he listened hard enough, he could hear faint voices on the wind. They were Hume, those hunters; their clear, high voices rang through the chasm.

"What is this...a coffer? What's it doing _here_, of all places?"

"_Tcha_. Does your mouth ever stop flapping, boy?"

"Gimme a break, Balthier. Why would a treasure chest be out _here_, anyway?"

The Garif youth cocked his head to the side. He understood very little of what the Humes were saying. Their trilling words tended to hurt his ears, so he never tried to learn their tongue. The Hume party moved out of earshot. He put the Humes out of his mind, and focused on the task at hand.

He traversed the stone corridor, peered around the sheer rock wall, and saw his mark. A lone Wu stomped about the grassy slope before the youth. The Wu spread its wasted, stumpy wings and beat at the air around its head. It cawed rustily into the buttery golden light of morning.

Once more, the youth reached into his jerkin. He retrieved a tiny earthen jug that held an alcoholic substance so hot, it drove any creature with the misfortune of touching it insane. The Garif could smell the wine through the cork stopper, and he had to center himself quickly lest he go mad himself. He licked his lips, and blew a relieved sigh when he found he could control himself enough to confront the Wu.

Oh, but this was so perilous. A fiend berserked into madness was a dangerous creature indeed. It felt no fear. It felt no pain. It merely attacked until one of the combatants fell dead. The youth's heart trip-hammered in his chest. He swallowed, almost painfully, and gathered his courage about him. He stepped out into the open and caught the Wu's attention.

"Have at you," said the Garif youth. He hurled the earthen pot at the giant bird-thing, and watched as the Wu struggled and writhed under the effect of the alcohol. It cawed in agony...and then rested its rheumy, red eyes on the young Garif. A thin foam gathered at the corners of the Wu's beak, and it rushed the warrior.

The Wu's beak cut the youth, as deeply as if it were made of steel. The Garif howled as searing pain stitched across one half-developed bicep. In retaliation, he thrust his father's fine old spear at the bird's head. The spear tip glanced off its orbital bone, sending bright crimson droplets into the air above its head.

It shrieked its pain and fury at the young Garif hunter. For one heart-stopping moment, the Garif youth quailed and almost dropped his father's spear. He regained his poise as the Wu took that moment to shake its head, probably in an effort to rid itself of pain and to free itself from the effects of the wine. The Garif, fully in charge of his faculties now, rushed the Wu. He rammed the spear home, and this time the tip punched through pinfeathers and down and flesh. The Wu's blood flew, and the Garif's blood sang.

As the warrior reveled in his fine aim and unwavering courage, the Wu lashed one stubby wing out, and caught the Garif's head in a swooping arc. The Garif boy became airborne. He fell back to Ivalice; his breath _whoofed _out of his lungs when his body hit the hard-pack. As he shook off the effects of the stunning blow, he looked up as the Wu descended upon him.

"Oh, no! We have to help him!"

As the Wu screeched its victory and the Garif youth saw Death approach, the young warrior heard the high, bird-like notes of the Hume tongue. The Wu, startled by the Hume party's intrusion, turned its attention to a half-naked Viera female.

Despite his brush with death and the subsequent assistance of the newcomers, he quickly turned his head in embarrassment. Not only was the Viera _sans _mask (the horror!), her femininity was clearly evident due to the fact that she wore next to nothing. Her companions – even some of the males – were in a similar state of undress. Did these others have any sense of decorum at _all_?

One of the Hume males swooped down and cleaved the Wu's skull in two. As the giant bird's body slumped to the ground, the male flicked the end of his sword to free it of blood and brain matter and chips of bone. He seated his sword in its sheath and rammed the hilt home. His sky-colored eyes rested on the Garif's mask, almost unsure where to make eye contact. He held one scarred hand out to the Garif, to help him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" asked the sky-eyed male.

The Garif shook his head. "I...cannot understand you," he rumbled in the tongue of the Garif. He made no move to take the hand of the outlander.

The sky-eyed Hume took his proffered hand back. "Do you need help?"

Again, the Garif shook his head in bafflement. One of the other Hume males – this one a mere _child – _stepped forward. He stood before the Garif, placed his hands on his knees, and hollered, "_Do...you...need...help?"_

"Vaan," said the third Hume male in exasperation, "bawling at him will not make him understand. If he needs help, he will make it clear to us." He gazed at the Garif, who had found his feet on his own accord, and nodded once. "You see? He's fine. Let's go."

The Hume party turned to leave, and the Garif watched their departure. As the party made their way through the stone corridor, the Hume male that offered him a hand-up turned to him once more. He reached into his jerkin and drew a tiny crystalline bottle from a hidden inner pocket. He whistled through his teeth to get the Garif's full attention, and lobbed the sapphire-hued restorative potion at the brave Garif warrior.

Perhaps it was the stone-cold brush with death that addled the Garif youth so; perhaps it was because he was still embarrassed by the state of the party's undress; perhaps the wine had some small effect on him after all – whatever it was, the Garif could not get his hands up fast enough to catch the tiny blue flask.

The bottle bounced off the Garif's half-raised hands, and _tinked_ against the warrior's mask. The bottle fell to his feet, where it shattered. The Hume that threw it winced slightly. He brought his own hands up in apology. "Sorry," said he.

"You...you hit me!" The Garif advanced on the crimson-jacketed Hume. His hands curled into fists. "You _threw_ something at me! Dirty Hume!"

As understanding and alarm dawned in the eyes of the Hume, the Garif swung a fist the size of a Cluckatrice egg at him. The Hume gasped once, and ducked under the Garif youth's massive fist.

Moments before his oblivion, the Hume blinked stupidly up at the Garif. "What on Ivalice...why did you..._hurrf!_" The Hume doubled over when the Garif youth kicked him hard in the stomach. He dropped to his knees and curled around his violated belly. The Hume grunted again as the Garif lashed his foot out again and kicked his face, and then the rest of the Hume party was on him.

A tiny female Hume-child leapt nimbly onto the Garif's back, and pummeled his neck with her tiny fists. "Leave him alone!" she chirped in her maddening Hume-tongue. The Garif shook her off as easily as a Nanna shook off fleas. The rest of the party unsheathed their weapons, and came to their fey little companion's aid.

"_Tch_. Time to end this," said the other adult Hume male. He raised his arquebus, and brought the butt down on the Garif's neck. The youth dropped to the ground, stunned.

They stood around the Garif's spread-eagled body. The older Hume – when he was able to find his feet, that was – spat blood into the dirt at his feet. "This one has a lot of fight in him," he said, his voice muffled by his swollen lips.

"Should we take him with us to Jahara?" One of the female Humes, this one dressed in a white samite jacket, inclined her head in the direction of the Garif village. "It's not far."

"No. He'll wake up soon enough...more the wiser, I would hope." The arquebus-toting Hume holstered his gun. "Shall we?"

The party made their way through the stone corridor once again - and once again, the sky-eyed Hume stopped and looked over his shoulder at the Garif youth. As his companions continued on their journey, he turned on his heel and returned to the warrior. He dropped to one knee as he fished in his jerkin. He pulled another cerulean phial from its depths.

As the Garif's eyes fluttered open, he realized the sky-eyed Hume hovered above him. He stiffened at once, but subsided when the Hume pressed the tiny bottle into his hand.

_"Here!"_ said the Hume. He scowled for a moment before he bared his blood-streaked teeth in a savage grin. "You need this _much_ more than I do."

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to be thanks to the research I did on Puyé, the Anasazi, and the Native American tribes that meet on the former to revisit the latter.
> 
> The prologue alludes to the first Garif you encounter on the Osmone Plains...not War-Chief Supinelu, but the one that attacks you if you throw a potion at it. I learned the hard way not to help this little bastard out when he's hurting. And usually the first time you're out in that neck of the woods, you are at a low enough level where the Garif Adventurer kicks your ass. 
> 
> Okay, one other thing. I wrote the prologue to this story nearly a decade ago. Lately I've been sorting through my old stuff, archiving things that haven't aged well, and sharing everything else. I still like this one. I have full intention to continue it, so let's mark this one as a 'work in progress'.
> 
> Laters!


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